The Rejected True Heiress (Liora) novel Chapter 79

Liora

Mia was heavier than I expected.

Not a dig—just reality. Dragging her behind me through muddy gardens wasn’t easy.

“Don’t look back!” I shouted, yanking her around a hedge. But I looked. Of course I did.

Jessica and her pack of glass-smiled wolves, storming through the garden in silk gowns and stilettos like a fever dream. But instead of flowers, they carried scissors. Instead of grace, jars of red ink sloshing like blood.

“Faster!” I shouted, hiking up my dress as their screams rang out behind us.

We tore through hedges and flagstones, heels slamming, skirts flying. Mia kept pace beside me, bun unraveling like a white flag.

Startled couples scattered from there snuck away moments in the hedges, and smokers leapt aside as we tore through with yelps.

“You little LIAR!” Jessica shrieked. “I’m going to rip that dress off your thieving back!”

“Come get it!” I barked, lungs on fire.

Glass shattered beside me, ink exploded across a pillar like a murder scene. Another jar hit near Mia’s feet. She screamed, hopping like shrapnel hit her. Then a hand, yanking hard at her braid.

“Don’t touch her!” I snapped.

Mid-run, I twisted, drove my elbow back—crack. Bone on bone. The girl yelped and flew into a hedge, scissors scattering.

Mia wrenched free, eyes wide, breath ragged. She looked at me like I was someone else.

I grabbed her hand. “Go!”

We dove through an open gate—iron clanging with a—Crash. A flower cart exploded behind our path, wheels shrieking. Buds burst into the air like confetti.

We’d barely dodged—but something jabbed into my arch, a garden tool. I stumbled, one heel gone, then the other.

Behind me—CRACK. Mia’s heel snapped. She winced, clutching her side, limping but still moving.

Still, they were gaining.

“Liar!”

“Pretender!”

“Slut!”

Insults cracked like whips. Their laughter was sharp, shrill, unhinged.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?”

“I wanna see what fake royalty bleeds like!”

Their heels scraped closer. Ink sloshed. Scissors clattered. Mia’s grip weakened. She was limping harder now and I hadn’t realized how bad it was until it slowed us.

“Mia,” I gasped, “come on—we’ve got to—”

A cluster of girls stood by the ballroom doors, all glittering heels and glassy eyes, like they’d been waiting for the signal.

“There!” one shrieked, pointing dead at us, her grin sharp enough to cut glass. “Get her!”

Hands rose in eerie sync, pulling out vials of red ink and scissors.

Just how many were in on this?!

I skidded, tried to redirect, but Mia’s hand ripped from mine.

“Mia!” I spun, reaching.

She took off in the opposite direction, flushed and wild, but her eyes met mine with one clear message:

If we split, we have a better chance.

Then, she winked. She…knew she was slower then me.

But there was no time to argue, her river-blue dress vanished around the corner like smoke as a surge of bodies slammed between us. All shrill laughter, waving jars, glinting blades as some chased her, but the rest came for me.

Whooping. Screeching. Like it was some deranged sorority hunt.

My heart flipped, and I bolted.

Deeper into the maze of back corridors, my feet pounded across slick tile and old marble, lungs heaving. The air changed as I moved, warmer, thick with perfume and something sweet, something powdery.